Of Tiresome Eyes and Scandalous Suggestions
by Mr. Fishy
Summary: -Lollie Snippet- An evening of criticism and fun.


**Author's Note: **I know I'm avoiding my other stories, but this time everyone gets to blame _Julx27xluvsxHM_for making me feel bad (I'm joking- insert sarcasm here.) This is very stupid, just thought I should warn you. I'm just playing with words; you know that weird thing called fun?

**DISCLAIMER: **Nope, I own nothing.

**Dedication: **_Julx27xluvsxHM_, for knocking some sense into me (at least for the moment.) Here is your quick one-shot, a little something to get you by. Hopefully you won't hate it. (Fingers crossed.)

……

Oliver has big feet. I sit on the floor with a book in my lap staring as he sleeps in our bed. His feet are dangling off the edge. His black socks are falling off. His work pants have ridden up at the end and I see his skinny ankles.

Oliver is snoring and grunts as he turns over. I tilt my head to the side and watch his lips turn down into a frown. His hair is a shaggy mess. I make a mental note to tell him to get a trim in the near future. I place the book off to the side and sit up on my knees.

I wear a wicked grin and inch closer to his feet. I pull off his black socks, I wait. Nothing. Growing impatient I stand up and walk over to my side of the bed. I crawl in and slide up next to him.

"Ollie?"

I hear a car horn beep outside. I hear a voice shout for a taxi.

"Ollie?" I coo running a finger down his face.

"Lilly." His voice is low and raspy. "I worked all day. I'm tired."

I smirk. His eyes are still shut as he burrows deeper in his pillow. I pet his head and kiss his cheek. "Poor baby." I giggle putting my head on his neck and wrapping my arms around his waist.

"I wrote another chapter. You want to hear it later?"

Oliver nods. "At dinner. Let's order in, how about from that Chinese place on the corner. They deliver, God bless them."

I smile coyly and nod into his neck. I press my wet lips against his hot skin. "Sounds good, I'll order okay?"

He nods with his eyes still snapped shut. I get up and the bed creaks loudly. My slippers await me and I slide into them slowly before heading into the kitchen. From the window over the sink I can see the sun setting softly over the city skyline.

After I dial and order our favorites Oliver comes, hunched over with tried eyes, from our bedroom. He sits in one of the wooden kitchen chairs and sighs.

"I hate my life." He grumbles resting his forehead on the table. "Why did I become a lawyer again?"

"Because," I smile striding over and placing a gentle hand over his back, "You're a good guy and wanted to help people."

"Yeah, that was stupid." He laughs.

Later, we eat laughing over wine and delicious Chinese. As Oliver scraps out the last of the white rice I scrounge around my folders and find a few crumpled pages of my new short story. Holding them over to Oliver he smoothes out the pages on the table and clears his throat. He leans back and begins to read.

I bite my nails and eye my wineglass. Oliver's brow knits together, telling me he is confused.

"It needs work, babe." He says setting the pages down. "This part," He points to my third paragraph, "Is gold but over here the sentence structures are all mixed up. I got lost in all those adverbs." He laughs.

I roll my eyes and grab the papers. "Oh well, tomorrow is another day." I shrug.

"Oh, you're mad." Oliver's face becomes serious. "Don't be mad." He says reaching for my hand across the table.

"I'm not mad." I'm not.

He shakes his head, "I know you're lying."

Damn.

"You're being too sensitive; it's just a rough draft." He tells me beginning to clean up the table. "All I'm saying is that I've seen you at your best and that's just not it, you can do so much _more_."

I watch him with a careful eye. Oliver's right, but I still want him to like everything I write, because I always write for him. I'm an author because I love it but also because Oliver is the best editor and critic. He knows when I need to be pushed and left alone, but that's what I get for falling for my best friend.

I let Oliver do the dishes. I slouch down in my chair and sip my wine through my teeth, just watching him work, attentively scrubbing and drying each plate with care. It's a little sexy. I smirk at my own realization.

The clock says it's around eight. Oliver has to get up early tomorrow for court and I need to check in with my editor, but I'm sure we could fit in a little fun time for tonight.

"Oh Ollie?"

"Yes?" He turns his head from concentrating on the sink.

"Still tired?"

…

**Author's Note: **Blah! I don't know, you tell me. It's been so long since I've written for these two. Leave your thoughts.


End file.
